


Cracked

by rosegoldroman



Series: Shattered Asides [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Being a Jerk, Cat Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders is a Dark Side, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22447036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldroman/pseuds/rosegoldroman
Summary: So, the mindscape is fucked. Rage and Logan are in control, Roman and Patton are suffering, and Virgil —Well, Virgil's a fucking cat, so you can imagine how well he's doing. Trapped in a form he can just barely control and in a scenario he hadn't even considered possible in his worst nightmares, he falls back on the one thing he knows he's truly good at, the one thing he thinks might help.Virgil is going to fuck Logan's shit up.CRACKFIC, NOT CANON TO SHATTER
Series: Shattered Asides [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615246
Comments: 14
Kudos: 176





	Cracked

**Author's Note:**

> so after the newest chapter (chapter 49), we had a big theorizing party in the shatter discord (link here https://discord.gg/p8TNrCV owo, ,,, , come join it's a Trip and a Half,,,,) as to where Virgil is
> 
> and one theory that emerged was that Virgil is. a cat. and he's just out there livin his best life, bothering logan
> 
> and this. is not my plan. virgil is Somewhere — or perhaps Nowhere — and he is very much Not a cat, but the theory had me laughing so hard I couldn't *not* write a crackfic based on it
> 
> or. at least, it was supposed to be a crackfic? it sorta turned a bit angsty, but Also virgil's a cat, so,,,, crack?
> 
> ANYWAY! welcome to the first of what i hope to be many Shattered Asides! idk what exactly the Asides will be — i have a few plans, but nothing too coherent — but i know they're all gonna be a trip n a half
> 
> i mean, what a way to start off, amiright?
> 
> this is dedicated to my good friend Ah Mess (aka @pattons-cat-hoodie), the genius behind the Virgil Is A Cat Theory! look upon your creation and weep, Ah Mess 
> 
> so uhhhh yeah! enjoy :3c
> 
> ALSO tw for uhhh lots of swearing (just like, virgil stuff yknow) and sliiiiight manipulation and angst, just bc Rage is. yknow. There

It was Virgil’s professional opinion that, well, shit was  _ fucked. _

Monumentally fucked.  _ Royally _ fucked. So fucking fucked that he doubted they’d ever be able to get it un-fucked. The main fucker himself — Logan, as he’d once been called, or  _ The Ultimate Bastard, _ as Virgil called him now — resided upon a throne built on his own family’s suffering, and everyone else? Well. They were  _ fucked. _

Roman was off in his realm somewhere, and he was definitely fucked. Patton hadn’t come out of his room since the whole shitty mess had begun, and he was  _ absolutely _ fucked. Deceit and Remus were probably  _ enjoying _ the whole thing, but they were just fucked-up on principle, so Virgil counted them on his  _ fucked _ list.

And Virgil? Well, Virgil was a fucking  _ cat, _ so take a wild guess as to how he was feeling.

Yeah, you heard him right. He was a  _ cat. _ Something about the  _ wonderful _ situation they’d all found themselves trapped in had broken Thomas’ psyche enough that his very form had been destabilized. He couldn’t hold his usual, respectable form for more than a few moments, maybe a minute at most. 

Couple that with the fact that  _ everything _ he knew, everyone he lo —  _ cared about _ had just shattered around him, and. Yeah. He was straight-up not having a good time. Adjusting to being a fucking  _ cat _ would have been hard enough  _ without _ all the trauma, but, well, there he was: a barely-a-foot-tall mess of fluff and claws and teeth and anger, filled to the brim with trauma and a healthy dose of paranoia to boot. 

Hell, it took him several days just to figure out how to  _ exist — _ to walk and run and curl up  _ just right _ to sleep, all that shit. It took him even longer to get used to how  _ different _ the world was at his new perspective, at least enough so that he didn’t spiral into a panic attack every time he saw how much everything  _ towered _ over him now.

But once he got past that initial stage of adjustment — the  _ oh shit, shit’s fucked  _ stage, as he very  _ fondly _ called it — the restlessness began to settle in. There was only so much he could take, really, and being trapped in his room, as a cat, with no way to connect to Thomas or any of the others or  _ anyone _ — that  _ way _ crossed the line. He was a  _ professional  _ fuck-shit-upper.  _ His _ shit didn’t get fucked. He  _ fucked people’s shit.  _

And, as a barely-a-foot-tall mess of fluff and claws and teeth and anger, filled to the brim with trauma and a healthy dose of paranoia to boot, he was hardly feeling very merciful. If he couldn’t save his friends — if he couldn’t save  _ Thomas — _ he was, at the very least, going to  _ fuck Logan’s shit up. _

It was that motivation alone that had him leaving his room for the first time in weeks, and had him delving back into the dark side of the mindscape for the first time in much, much longer. Only his fury at being shoved aside — and his confidence in his ability to, yknow,  _ fuck shit up _ — kept him from turning tail (ha) and running at the sight of the Darkscape. At the very least, he knew that if he was caught, he could scratch his captor’s face up to hell and back. The one upside to being a cat: claws were  _ very _ useful.

The hallways were empty as he slunk through them, but this wasn’t anything new; the Others, at least when he’d known them, hadn’t exactly been keen on socializing. Sure, he and Deceit and  _ sometimes _ Remus had gathered in the common room to, yknow,  _ vibe, _ but otherwise, they just kept to themselves. Still, he kept close to the walls, his inky black fur blending in with the shadows cast across them. 

He found Logan in a room connected to Rage’s, at a desk stacked high with papers. Logan himself was slumped over the desk, head propped up in one hand, his eyes unfocused and red and his tie slung haphazardly over his shoulders. Virgil would have almost felt sympathetic, if the sight of Logan didn’t make him righteously sick. He slunk into the room, keeping to the shadows as he approached the tall desk. 

There was a glass of water towards the edge of the desk, kept at a safe distance away from the papers. Virgil eyed it, tail swishing back and forth. What a perfect opportunity. All it took was a quiet leap for the cup to be within swatting distance — but swatting was for  _ amateurs. _ He wasn’t looking to get caught; he was looking to make Logan’s very existence as difficult as possible. 

So instead — careful to keep to the shadows, hidden behind a stack of papers, so Logan’s unfocused eyes couldn’t spot him — he stalked forward, pressing a paw against the side of the glass until it slid, silent, to a spot right beside Logan’s elbow. Then he leaped back down to the floor and gracefully slid right back into the shadows.

Then he let out one solid, resounding  _ yowl. _

Logan jerked, a startled cry tearing from his throat, and his elbow collided with the glass and sent it flying across his papers.  _ “Shit!” _ he growled, jumping to his feet and scrambling, uselessly, to pick up the papers before they could be soaked through. Virgil dug his fangs into his bottom lip to keep from laughing — or. Well. Chittering. Cat noises were  _ weird. _

“Logic?” A figure stepped through the doorway, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He narrowed his burning-ember eyes. “What the  _ fuck, _ man.”

“I-It was not my fault,” Logan said, his arms full of dripping papers. “I always ensure that the glass is an optimal distance from my work in order to reduce the risk of spillage. It — it must have  _ moved —” _

“The  _ glass _ moved,” Rage deadpanned. “Uh-huh. Just clean it up, and don’t do it again. God, it’s like you’re going  _ blind _ or something.”

Logan missed the look on Rage’s face as he turned, a cruel mask dripping with dramatic irony. The door slammed shut, and Logan dragged a hand across his face, his dull red eyes flickering around the room. Though his gaze crossed Virgil’s hiding spot several times, he never noticed him.

Virgil counted that as a win.

Step one, done. He’d proven that he could still effectively  _ fuck shit up, _ even as a cat. Now onto step two — continually  _ fucking shit up _ until Logan couldn’t take it any longer. He watched as Logan cursed under his breath, summoning a roll of paper towels to sop up the mess, and couldn’t help the spark of cold revenge that bloomed in his stomach.

This was going to be  _ fun. _

* * *

Logan was unraveling.

Virgil learned quickly that Logan was far more likely to chalk Virgil’s  _ shit-fuckery _ up as related events, rather than a series of odd coincidences, if he kept doing the same thing again and again and again, rather than spreading his efforts across a vast realm of shit. So he focused solely on making sure Logan spilled  _ every single drink _ he could get his hands on.

He’d follow Logan into the kitchen, slinking through the shadows at his feet, and nudge his coffee over  _ just _ far enough to the right that Logan would whack it to the floor as he talked. He’d ensure that Logan’s late-night tea was close enough to the edge of the table that he’d knock it to the floor as he set his books back. Every glass of water he got throughout the day would meet the same fate: knocked to the floor by Logan’s own hands.

And Logan — still curious, still intelligent, even when being manipulated by a monster — couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t had  _ one _ drink in the past handful of weeks that hadn’t somehow toppled. He began to experiment: leaving a drink in the very center of a table, far out of reach, or ensuring that Rage or Remus was watching when he drank, so they could bear witness to his suffering. Neither worked. Virgil could just push the drink back, or wait until Rage or Remus turned their heads to push the cup within arm’s reach. 

At first, it was  _ fun. _ Watching Logan unravel brought about a very satisfying kind of vindication, rooting deep through his stomach, and it only ever motivated him to pull him apart even more. Besides, sticking close to Logan meant he got to hear firsthand what was going on — namely, that Deceit had decided to  _ play the hero _ or some bullshit like that and try to fix things. Which, ha. Fat chance. If  _ Deceit _ managed to bring everything back to normal, Virgil would eat his hoodie whole.

But as time wore on, it began to feel…  _ not _ so fun. Sure, the initial reaction was great — especially once Logan got to that special stage of unhinged where every single spilled drink was another bit of evidence towards his vastly growing slew of conspiracy theories; he even had one of those boards, the cliche ones with the red strings, and Virgil was delighted that he wasn’t even  _ mentioned _ on it — but the aftermath was… not great. 

Especially when Rage was involved. At first, Logan’s newfound tendency to spill every glass he touched only wore on his patience a little — which was remarkable, really, because Rage’s temper was shorter than he was, and that was saying something. But his annoyance turned quickly to frustration, and then to anger, and then —

“God _ damnit!” _ Rage growled, when the fifth glass that day had toppled from the counter, jostled by Logan’s elbow as he moved through the kitchen. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you?”

“You think I know?” Logan retorted, eyes narrowing at the tone in Rage’s voice. “I’ve been  _ trying _ to figure it out, with no help from you, I might add —”

“You shouldn’t need fucking  _ help _ to  _ drink water,” _ Rage snapped. “Jesus — maybe you  _ are _ as useless as the lighties thought you were.”

Logan jerked, hurt blooming across his face. He was quick to school it away, but not quick enough that Virgil, hidden in the shadows beneath the kitchen table, didn’t see it. 

“I mean, Christ, Logic! You can’t even  _ drink _ properly!” Rage’s hands flew through the air as he spoke, and Logan winced, taking a step back on instinct, and — oh,  _ hell no. _ There was fear in his eyes. Virgil knew fear; he practically breathed it. That was definitely fear, a split-second of terror darting through his crimson gaze as Rage’s hands moved. 

Suddenly, that satisfying vindication vanished. Suddenly, only anger remained. Rage swore and shoved past Logan, broken glass crunching underfoot, and Logan steadied himself against the kitchen counter and forced out a few shaking breaths.

No. Nope, nuh-uh. Abort mission. Virgil had never interacted much with Rage before — Deceit had always kept him under lock and key, deep within Thomas’ mind, so he couldn’t cause too much trouble — but he knew a  _ bastard _ when he saw one. He was done fucking Logan’s shit up; the poor dude’s shit was already pretty fucked, anyway.

A new plan was formulating in Virgil’s mind, one that would be  _ far _ more satisfying. Logan was only the puppet, anyway; messing with him didn’t exactly avenge his family. He had to go right to the source.

He slunk out of the kitchen while Logan wasn’t looking, and followed the familiar hallways down to Rage’s red door. Rage was lying on his bed, eyes closed, tinny screamo blasting through his headphones — and there was a glass of hot coffee steaming on his bedside table.

Virgil suddenly felt very glad that his face could produce the  _ >:3c. _

He hopped up onto the table, and pushed the cup along towards the edge. Then, in one fluid motion, he nudged the lamp off and leaped to the floor as the room plunged into darkness. Rage swore under his breath, and then —

With a  _ swoop _ and a large  _ crash, _ the cup went sailing towards the floor, and shattered into a million pieces. Coffee splattered  _ everywhere. _ Rage turned back on his light and his eyes widened.

_ “What the  _ **_fuck.”_ **

* * *

That night, Logan woke from a restless sleep to find a sloppily made cup of tea on his bedside table. He didn’t spill it. 


End file.
